I Know Things
by XxxLil'MunchkinxxX
Summary: Saracen Rue, all easy charm and easy smiles, like a man trying to convince himself he's nicer than he is. That was how she remembered him. It had been over a decade since she'd last seen a Dead Man but now she had all of them and more on her doorstep with a psychopathic serial killer from her past on the loose. Just a day in the life, right?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Okay, hullo there lovely readers! This is my first fanfic on this website, though I do have a few on Wattpad (LilMunchkin01) and Quotev (Jessamine). This takes place after The Dying of the Light with a few obvious changes, most notably that Anton and Ghastly are alive and Ravel is not a traitor. This is a Saracen/OC story with some Dexerie on the side (Valkyrie/Dexter). Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Blood trickled down her face, her vision obscured by crimson. She groaned quietly as she pushed herself off of the freezing, cobbled floor, forcing herself to stand despite the burning of her muscles. It appeared she was unable to support herself for more than a few moments as her knees buckled, the trembling grip she had on the rough wall was the only thing that prevented her from meeting the ground again.

Her stomach felt as though it was on fire, whatever she'd been cut with wasn't an ordinary knife and it hurt a hell of a lot more than she remembered over one hundred years ago. The injuries were worse this time around, she'd been lucky to be alive after the last incident. She gingerly brushed her scarlet stained hair out of her face and wiped her eyes, her hands, like the rest of her, slick with blood.

"Need some help?"

Max glanced up. While everything was still blurry, she could just make out the sight in front of her and her lips twitched in spite of the situation. "You have never looked more like Hugh Jackman." She croaked.

Saracen rolled his brown eyes and helped her up, holding her firmly to his sir as he tried to ignore her wince and gasp as he did so. "Blame Ghastly." He grumbled. "He wouldn't let anyone come without protective clothing."

"He was obviously watching Van Helsing when he made yours." Saracen was clad in all black, the trench coat her wore have the illusion that he was taller than he actually was and the hat on his head was definitely something Skulduggery would wear. "Don't worry," Max continued, her voice hoarse, "Hugh Jackman was hot in that film."

"You're suffering from serious blood loss." Saracen snorted. She hadn't complimented him in over a century, not that he blamed her. He wished they were in different circumstances, though he supposed they wouldn't have been honest or open otherwise. The threat of death often made people speak the truth or attempt to reconcile, and Saracen thought if when he had revealed his power to Erskine.

"Probably." Max agreed. "But you're still hot, even if you have let yourself go." She poked his slightly chubby stomach.

"I haven't let myself go!" Saracen exclaimed indignantly. "I just care about my six-pack more than most people so I chose to protect it with an extra layer."

"Of fat."

Saracen huffed. "I'm not fat."

"You are a bit."

"Hush you."

Just as she quietened down there was a soft whisper that had the two straightening. Max felt dizzy as her eyes flickered about the dark alley. Her dizziness only got worse as she heard the whisper again. "Please tell me I'm not going insane."

"You already are." Saracen murmured. "But yes, I can hear it."

Somehow, that didn't comfort her. "Did you come alone?"

"We all came."

"Then where are the others?"

Saracen now had a gun in his calloused hand as he handed Max her two signature blades. "That," he said, "is a very good question."

Max did feel comforted by the cool metal that rested perfectly in her palms but she knew that she wouldn't exactly pose a threat in her current state. She stiffened as she felt someone that definitely wasn't Saracen trail their fingers across her back, gliding their hands through the tips of her hair, but as soon as she turned she knew they were gone. It wasn't as though they could see much anyway. The alley was practically pitch black and the gathering fog only served to make matters worse. It was like something out of a cliché horror movie, except this movie was now reality and Max felt a lot like a blonde that got killed off near the beginning for being too weak or idiotic.

"Aoife..."

Max swallowed nervously. She'd fought in wars before, she'd been captured and tortured before, but right now she was scared and she wasn't going to deny it. This man, this creature, was the only thing that terrified her. She would rather take on Mevolent by herself than face this thing with even the famous Dead Men by her side, or one of them at least.

"Aoife?" Saracen questioned quietly. His eyes watched the space around them wearily as they slowly made their way forward.

"My given name." Max muttered.

"How does he know it?"

"I don't bloody know."

"Aoife..."

It was closer this time and Max gripped her daggers tighter.

"Aoife..."

"If I end up dying," Saracen said softly, "I want you to tell Dexter and Erskine that they're not getting my goldfish, Ghastly or Anton can fight over them."

"I might not be able to relay the message, who says I'm not going to die?"

Another gun appeared in his hand as he let go of her waist, Max immediately missing his warmth - the same way she had done for a century and a half since they'd met in the early 1800's. He gently left her leaning against the wall and Max took the moment to appreciate how loving he was being with her even at a time like this. It was a shame they probably wouldn't have long together after this, they had an awful lot to catch up on. Saracen clicked the safety off of his second gun and pointed it directly ahead of him, the heavy weight in his hand not wavering as a face appeared in the darkness. "Me."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks for the wait! And the reviews, hope you enjoy xx**

* * *

Max Pryde grumbled incoherently under her breath as she stumbled down the stairs. She hadn't been getting much sleep as of late and it was just typical that when she had finally managed to get to bed, someone had started banging loudly on her door. Perhaps it was for the best, her dreams hadn't been kind to her recently. "What?" She snapped tiredly.

"How rude, that's no way to greet an old friend."

A slow smile started to form on her lips in spite of her exhaustion, she'd recognise that smooth and silky voice anywhere, but as she caught sight of who else was standing on her doorstep that smile quickly melted into a scowl. "Piss off." She slammed the door firmly shut, cursing quietly as she tripped in the dark. For a seasoned warrior she was quite clumsy, at least when she hadn't slept for over ninety-six hours and even in the days before that her nights had been plagued with horror.

"Max! Come back!"

She gladly ignored the calls and groaned as she finally found the light switch, the unexpected brightness blinding her momentarily.

"We need your help!"

While that confession amused her, she once again ignored the cries and instead reached for a glass and grabbed a nearby bottle. Her stormy and bloodshot eyes flickered towards the clock on her kitchen wall. 2 a.m. was a very good time for vodka in her opinion.

"You've probably been getting a lot of visions, am I right?"

Max downed the burning liquid, huffing at the smug tone as she carelessly chucked the delicate cup into the sink, leaving the bottle where it was. There was always a high chance that she would come back to it later. Who needed a glass when you had the bottle? She reluctantly made her way back to the door. "What do you know?"

Skulduggery Pleasant seemed to be grinning at her, though his skull was etched in a permanent grin that was both undoubtedly creepy and comfortingly familiar. "Can we come in?"

Max stepped aside silently, watching as each member of the huddled group trooped in. Her gaze didn't linger on anyone in particular and she didn't even glare, and had she any energy left to muster she would have felt quite proud of herself for her restraint.

* * *

"So these visions," Skulduggery said, locking his skeletal fingers together under his chin, "what are they?"

Everyone had made themselves comfortable in her sitting room. Skulduggery had taken it upon himself to sit in her chair but she couldn't be bothered to argue over a petty show of authority or resistance. Ghastly Bespoke and Anton Shudder, perhaps two of her favourite people ever, had kindly brought in chairs from her kitchen so that the others could have the sofas. Although this could also have been because they were simply too slow to claim the comfier spots.

Valkyrie Cain, someone who Max hadn't met yet but knew all about, let her dark eyes scan the room curiously. She was tall and pretty with a single dimple in her left cheek, something Max noticed as her lips twitched at the other men squabbling in the room.

Dexter Vex and Erskine Ravel took up her other sofa with Saracen Rue squashed between them. Three handsome men who were all aware of the fact that their looks could get them far. They had been childishly fighting until the skeleton detective spoke.

"So you don't know anything about them?"

"I didn't say that, I'm only asking for you to describe them to me."

Max sighed internally at how egotistical the dead mage was, of course he couldn't admit he didn't know a thing; that just wasn't in his nature. Nevertheless, she indulged him.

The visions were unlike any other she had ever had the displeasure of having. It was as though they were being…censored, for want of better word. She saw enough to leave her restless but not enough to analyse deeply or actually do anything about it. The last few days had been spent trying to carefully figure out what on Earth was happening but the more tired she got, the more things slipped away from her.

"That is…troubling." Said Skulduggery eventually.

"Any ideas detective?"

Skulduggery ignored her sarcasm. "The person in black could be Valkyrie or Anton, those two don't exactly have a great fashion sense do they?" The two sorcerers mentioned glared at their friend. "That face in the dark could be anyone and that alley could be anywhere but let's assume it's in London." Skulduggery continued. "So my next question is: do you know anyone who would want to cut you up in a London alley?" Judging from the expression that had just befallen her face, Skulduggery guessed that yes, there was.

Max pursed her lips. "No one that you'd know." She said stiffly. What she had said was technically correct, Skulduggery wouldn't know them, at least not personally. She felt like hitting herself, though. How could she have not figured this out for herself? Sleep deprivation, her mind answered accusingly and Max decided not to focus on the fact that she was now, apparently, talking to herself.

If he could, Skulduggery would have raised an eyebrow as he cocked his head. "Don't be difficult." He sounded amused.

Max narrowed her eyes. "How do you even know about the visions?"

"Finbar had a vision but I'll be honest, that wasn't our primary reason for visiting."

Max fought a smile at the name and chose to smile internally instead. Outwardly she remained unimpressed, though her mind was now fondly remembering her days with her fellow Sensitive. She missed Finbar. They often talked on the phone, if the man recalled what a phone was and where he had placed it, but she hadn't seen the tattoo artist in over a decade. "It's nice to know where I am on your list of priorities." She commented sardonically. "What did you really come for?"

Skulduggery hesitated so Valkyrie took over. "What do you know about blood magic?"

Max stood abruptly. "Stay away from it." She warned. A sudden burst of adrenalin shot rapidly through her veins, a feeling of ice spreading through her body. Or maybe that was fear? Now that she was alert, Max could appreciate the young woman's accent. It was nice, diluted from her travels but not so much as the others in the room. It was refreshing to hear the dulcet tones of an Irishwoman again.

"It's not us who want to use it." Valkyrie explained. "There was a murder about a week ago and another just yesterday. The bodies were mutilated and there were symbols drawn in blood all over the crime scene."

"Not even China could decipher them." Ghastly added.

"We were told to come to you." Valkyrie said. "That was the only thing we could understand from the writing."

"What do you know about blood magic, Max?" Skulduggery stared at her with his empty eye-sockets.

"It's dangerous."

"Obviously."

Max rolled her eyes. "Not just for the victim but for the user, that's one reason why it's so rare."

"What are the other reasons?"

"First off, you have to mutilate a hell of a lot of people, though the stronger the blood, the less people you have to kill."

"What about the blood of the Ancients?"

Max looked at Valkyrie. The girl was the last descendant ever since her family had died so it was obvious as to why she was interested. She couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the girl, not particularly for the passing as her family. Max knew the feeling of having lost the ones you love and she also knew that she despised being pitied for it. She felt sorry for the dark-haired woman on the account that so many people wanted her just because of her ancestors. "It's a lot more powerful but depending on what the user wants to do, they'd probably still have to kill another person. Blood magic's a crappy discipline if you think about it. A whole lot of effort for very little power."

Skulduggery nodded his head, taking in her information. "When was the last time it was used?"

Max sighed. "Why don't you just ask Mr Know-It-All?" She tilted her head towards Saracen but didn't bother looking at him.

"Apparently this is something he doesn't know about." Dexter jibed.

"Shut up." Saracen muttered. His usual jolly mood had dissipated when he'd seen the look of utter disdain on Max's pretty face once she had realised that he was within the group. They had parted on bad terms but he'd hoped that she had gotten over it. He wasn't one to talk, this he knew. It had been more than a century ago that he'd shared a bed with her yet he was still entirely caught up in the angry enigma that was Max Pryde. Every person he'd been with since just proved that nobody could ever be like her. He refused to voice this out loud however, only speaking of his infatuation once in a moment of stupid drunkenness that was never repeated.

"Stop avoiding the question." Anton said quietly, but everyone heard him. It was the first time he'd spoken since he had entered.

Max didn't bother feeling disgruntled that the adept had realised what she was up to and instead chose to happy that he still knew her like the back of his hand. "It was last used, or known to be used, in the nineteenth century."

"Do you know anything else about the case?" Skulduggery pressed.

"It was pretty famous, I'd say everyone knows something else about the case."

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed." Max replied as Skulduggery got her hint.

"What?" Ravel asked in confusion. He didn't like being left out of things, he was the former Grand Mage of Ireland — a Cradle of Magic. People often seemed to forget that these days.

They ignored him. "Did he get enough blood?" Skulduggery questioned.

Max ran a hand through her pale blonde hair. "No."

"Then why did he stop?"

"I don't bloody know, I didn't exactly ask the guy."

"Who?" Ravel's frustration was evident.

"Jack the Ripper."


End file.
